


A photograph of you

by BecauseImClassy



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Avocados go out drinking, F/M, Missing Scene, Mostly Fluff, Pre-Relationship, Recovery, St. Patrick's Day, brief mention of past violence, only a little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 16:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14000109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecauseImClassy/pseuds/BecauseImClassy
Summary: After the defeat of Wilson Fisk, Karen is settling into her new life and trying to come to terms with everything that's happened. St. Patrick's Day provides a welcome excuse for her, Matt, and Foggy to go out together and relax for an evening.





	A photograph of you

**Author's Note:**

> This is, obviously, a story about the framed picture Karen has of the three of them. But I also wanted to explore how Karen is recovering from the events of season one, and how she and Matt feel about each other at this point, between S1 and S2.
> 
> The title is from "Wishing" by A Flock of Seagulls.

Wilson Fisk was in jail, thanks to the three members of Nelson & Murdock, Attorneys at Law (with help from the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, who the media had now named Daredevil).

Karen Page had survived Fisk’s persecution, partly with Daredevil’s help, but mostly through her own efforts, and willingness to take desperate action. Now that Fisk was behind bars, she could finally feel safe, and settle into her new life.

True, some nights she would jolt awake from terrifying dreams. Daniel Fisher, dead at her feet in a pool of blood, the knife in her hand. Being strangled in a jail cell by a nondescript man who apologized as he choked the life out of her. Being flung against the wall by a man with a knife. Or, most often, James Wesley, bullets tearing through him as she pulled the trigger, and Wilson Fisk coming after her to take his revenge. 

But she could take considerable comfort in knowing that Fisk, the guiding force behind all of it, was locked up; and that she had been instrumental in taking him down. She might not be a lawyer, like Matt and Foggy, but she had dug up information critical to their case against Fisk. And in the process, she had acquired not only a new job working at Nelson & Murdock, but two firm friends.

Her guilt at the man she had killed never entirely left her, but she clung to the words Matt had said to her after Fisk’s arrest. There was no changing the past, no matter how much she might want to. He had held out his hand and offered her a more hopeful future, and she had reached out and taken it.

 _All we can do is move forward, together._

Life went on, despite what she had done, and all she could do was try to live it the best she could.

She told no one about her nightmares, but it almost seemed like Matt knew, somehow, when she’d had a particularly bad night. She tried to talk and act just the same as always on those days, when she had only managed an hour or two of sleep, but she had the feeling she wasn’t fooling him. He might not say anything, but his small, anxious frown gave him away.

_There’s been something in your voice…I thought it would get better once Fisk was put away. It hasn’t, has it?_

But he never asked any questions, and things did slowly begin to get better. Their small, shabby office was a pleasant place to work. Matt and Foggy’s friendship had recovered from whatever had caused their rift, and they seemed almost as close as ever. Karen had a nagging sense that they were keeping something from her, but given what she was hiding from them, how could she possibly complain?

And after all, Foggy had said it was personal. Everyone was entitled to a few personal secrets, surely. And they included her in their friendship in so many other ways that she found she could live with…whatever it was they weren’t telling her.

What she couldn’t continue to live with, however, was her apartment, with its blood-stained carpet and traumatic memories. Not to mention its monthly rent, which she could no longer afford. Nelson & Murdock had only a trickle of clients, and the three of them were making almost no money as of yet.

Union Allied had paid her six months’ salary as hush money, but she had used some of that money to pay for the elderly office equipment she had bought at auction, and what remained wasn’t going to last forever, no matter how frugal she was. She needed to find something cheaper as soon as she could, and once things had quieted down after Fisk’s arrest, she went on the hunt.

* * * * *

On a cold winter morning, Matt and Foggy arrived at the office to find Karen already there, making coffee in the kitchen.

“Hi, guys,” she greeted them cheerfully.

“Good morning.”

“Hey, Karen.”

She sounded well, Matt thought as he hung up his coat. Her heartbeat was calm and steady today, her voice free of strain. There was no lingering smell, too subtle for ordinary senses to detect, to tell him she’d been drinking during the night. Her movements, as she moved around the office getting ready for the day ahead of them, were light and assured, without any dragging fatigue. Good.

It was no wonder if she had some bad nights, after everything she’d been through. But he worried about her, all the same. If she wanted to talk about it, he would have been happy to listen, and to help if he could. But she clearly tried to hide the fact that she didn’t always sleep well, and she did it so well that Foggy usually didn’t notice anything wrong. He couldn't tell her that he knew, without revealing his enhanced senses.

He wondered if she might confide in Foggy—the two of them had bonded, the night they went out drinking together. And Matt knew that the secrets he kept gave him a certain reserve that most people found less approachable than open, friendly Foggy.

But so far as he could tell, she hadn’t talked to Foggy, either. She fought her demons all alone, just as Matt himself would have done. Even as he worried, he couldn’t help admiring her strength and determination, and he always felt happier on days when he knew she had gotten a decent night’s sleep. Today, at least, it seemed the demons had lost.

His musings were interrupted when she asked, “Do you guys know anywhere around here I can get some cardboard boxes? I need to start packing my stuff.”

“You found a new place?” asked Foggy. They knew she had been apartment-hunting, she had made no secret of wanting to leave her old place behind and make a fresh start.

“I did,” she answered. “And it’s not far from here, I’ll be able to walk to work.”

“Sounds good. Have you got anyone lined up to help you move?”

“Well…” she said hesitantly. “I was hoping maybe…you would?”

“Yeah, of course,” said Matt. He wondered for a moment if she had meant both of them, or just Foggy. But then, Karen never made the mistake of thinking he was helpless or incapable just because he was blind.

“You got it, Karen,” Foggy agreed.

“Oh, thank you so much, you guys,” she said, relieved, and Matt smiled.

“Just tell us when, and we’ll be there,” he said.

* * * * *

Karen shifted the box she was carrying to brace it on her hip, and unlocked the door of her new apartment.

“Come on in,” she said, leading the way inside. “Just set those down anywhere, and Matt, I’ll give you the layout.” They all set down their boxes on the floor. “There’s a wall immediately to the right, with a door, that’s the bathroom. Kitchen’s to the left, along the front wall. Straight ahead, across the room, there’s a closet, doors facing us. So those are the spots we don’t want to block access.”

“Got it,” said Matt, nodding. He could sense the size and shape of the empty room perfectly well, but he couldn’t let her know that. He walked around the perimeter, one hand brushing the wall, getting a feel for the space.

“Bed’s going against the back wall?” asked Foggy.

“Right,” she confirmed. “But go ahead and stack things in the back along the side walls and in the corners. As long there’s enough space next to the bed for me to get in and out, that’s all I need for now.”

She looked around, trying to ignore the dismaying feeling that the apartment was smaller than she remembered, and wondering how she would fit all her things inside. _Rooms always look smaller when they’re empty,_ she told herself firmly.

“Home sweet home,” she said, with determined cheerfulness. “Or it will be, once we get everything moved in. Let’s go get the next load.”

It was half the size of her old apartment, Matt thought as they trooped back down the stairs. Maybe less. And although he knew that she was sincerely relieved to leave the place where a man had been murdered, where she herself had been attacked and nearly killed, he also knew that wasn’t the only reason she was so anxious to move. They all knew, even if none of them mentioned it. This studio was all she could afford, now that she worked for them.

It wasn’t a comfortable thought. When he and Foggy had made the risky decision to leave Landman & Zack and strike out on their own, they hadn’t expected anyone else’s livelihood but their own to be depending on their success. Left to themselves, they wouldn’t have hired any help until they started actually making money. But then Karen had talked her way into a job, throwing her lot in with them despite their uncertain prospects. 

Matt couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt at this evidence of her reduced circumstances. But after all, she had known what she was getting herself into. And she had quickly made herself such an integral part of the office that he could hardly imagine the place without her.

The risk was going to pay off, he promised himself. They were going to succeed. The three of them, together. And if he and Foggy couldn’t afford to pay Karen very much just yet, they could help her out in other ways, like they were today. She deserved more, but for now this would have to do.

Moving into a new apartment was always a giant hassle, thought Karen, but in winter it was even worse. It wasn’t snowing today, which was a mercy, but it was cold and windy, the sidewalks treacherous with half-frozen slush, the stairs inside her new building becoming more and more slippery as they tracked a bit of the mess inside with them with every trip. But with Matt and Foggy’s help, the day was going much better than she had expected.

She had been curious to see how Matt would manage. He had agreed to help so promptly when she asked, that she wasn’t going to insult him by doubting his ability. But it was a plain fact that he couldn’t hold his cane when he needed both hands to carry things.

He could, however, guide himself in other ways. Going up the stairs, his hip nudged the bannister. Walking down the hallway, his shoulder brushed the wall. Outside, he kept his shoulder pressed against Foggy’s, the two of them falling easily into step together, Foggy giving him any additional warnings, as needed—“Curb,” or “Steps,” or “Giant icy puddle, hope you brought a snorkel, buddy, we may have to swim.” His blindness hardly seemed to hamper him at all.

He was also, she noticed, surprisingly strong. He lifted her heaviest boxes with ease, and when two people were needed to carry a piece of furniture, he took the lower position on the stairs, bearing the extra weight without complaint. Karen knew very little about how he spent his time outside of work, but he must work out.

He was fit, too—when she and Foggy were red-faced and panting after a few trips up and down the stairs, he was barely winded. And by the time _he_ was red-faced and panting, she and Foggy were ready to collapse. She opened up one of the kitchen boxes to find glasses, and insisted that they all take a break and drink some water.

But they got the job done, and in less time than she had dared to hope. When everything was finally moved in, as afternoon darkened into evening, they made their way to a little pizzeria Karen had discovered in the neighborhood. Tired, but cheerful, they peeled off their winter coats, now damp with sweat, and crowded around a tiny table in the corner.

“Thank you so much for the help, you guys,” said Karen. “I really appreciate it.”

“That’s what friends are for,” said Foggy. “Although, that said, I hope you aren’t planning on doing this again any time soon. You know we love you, but man, my back hurts.”

Karen laughed, knowing he was joking. She liked Foggy, but she was relieved that his early interest in her had resolved on its own into an easy friendship, helped along by his renewed interest in his ex, Marci.

“Is there anything else we can help you with?” asked Matt.

“No, I don’t think so. Now it’s just unpacking, and putting everything away. I can do that myself.”

And as for Matt…well. Her feelings for Matt were harder to define. If she was being honest with herself, she had been drawn to him right from the start. He was reserved, harder to get to know than Foggy, but that didn’t make him any less appealing.

Watching him now, as they talked and ate, she couldn’t deny the attraction she felt. He seemed more open and relaxed than usual, maybe simply because they weren’t at work. He smiled often, a bright, warm smile that made her want to smile, too. And as good as he looked in a suit and tie, seeing him now in jeans and a T-shirt, the sweaty shirt clinging to his chest and arms, his hair tousled from the wind that was still blowing outside…he was sexy, there was no other word for it.

If things were different…

But they weren’t.

If she hadn’t killed a man…

But she had.

Matt was _good,_ and he deserved someone as good as he was. Not a murderer like her. It was ironic, that the very crime she had been falsely accused of, that had brought Matt and Foggy into her life, was now something she was indeed guilty of, and could never tell them. Better that Matt remain just a friend, like Foggy. She could allow herself that much, and not hope for anything more. No matter how attractive she found him. 

Sitting beside Karen, Matt was pleasantly aware of her closeness. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, and smell her familiar scent more strongly than usual, after hours of vigorous exercise. Untainted by fear or stress or alcohol, and having sweated her way through the usual masking scents of soap and shampoo and laundry detergent, she smelled…nice.

Her heart rate was slightly elevated, and he could still hear the subtle tension in her voice that had been there for a while now, but it seemed less today. He hoped that this move would be a positive step for her, that a new home would help her move forward, untroubled by old fears.

She was a good person, and she deserved better than being terrorized by the likes of Wilson Fisk. Now that Fisk was locked up, he hoped that she would never again have to fear for her life—and if she ever was threatened, he was determined to protect her.

“I should probably get back and start unpacking,” she said reluctantly, once they had finished eating.

“Unpacking, or falling into bed face first?” asked Foggy.

She laughed. “Well, I have to put sheets on the bed, and blankets, before I can fall into it. And find my toothbrush, and some clothes to wear tomorrow. And I need a shower, a shower is _vital._ But after that? Yeah, probably bed.”

“I bet we all sleep well tonight,” said Foggy.

“Let’s hope so,” said Karen, and Matt felt a small dart of concern. But her heartbeat remained steady, and he could detect no anxiety in her voice, only perfectly understandable fatigue.

“We’ll walk you home,” he said, giving her a smile.

“All right,” she replied, her answering smile clear in her voice.

* * * * *

As winter dragged toward its close, Nelson & Murdock’s trickle of clients increased steadily. Their income increased…less steadily, since they wouldn’t turn away anyone who needed their help, whether they could afford to pay or not. But they were making a name for themselves, which was just as important as making money.

The splash of publicity they had enjoyed following Wilson Fisk’s arrest had died down, and now it was up to them to build the kind of solid, lasting reputation that would attract paying clients. It would take time, but they were all sure that financial stability would come.

Despite the lack of money, Karen was coming to love her job. The office was busy and full of hope, and when business was slow she had Matt and Foggy for company. Even when they were both in their offices working, and Karen sat alone at her desk, just knowing that they were nearby gave her a feeling of comfort and peace.

The work, too, was satisfying. Her own role had quickly expanded from secretary to legal assistant. She had a talent for research, and she could help them with their caseload in a lot more ways than just her secretarial skills. 

And they were helping people, making the city a better place one small piece at a time. To be a part of that effort eased the guilt that still haunted her. Here, in this office, she could make a difference despite the blood on her hands. She could do good, even if she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that she _was_ good.

And slowly, the knot of fear and self-recrimination she kept hidden in her heart began to loosen. She was sleeping better in her new apartment, the nightmares coming less and less frequently. And when they did come, they were easier to recover from when she woke in a room that held no terrifying memories. She could turn on the bedside lamp and see the entire apartment from her bed, and know that she was safe, and go back to sleep.

Gradually, it began to be possible to enjoy her life once more. To look forward to what the future might bring. To be happy, without the accompanying conviction that she didn’t deserve happiness. She forgot nothing, but she learned to live with the things she couldn’t forget.

* * * * *

One afternoon in the middle of March, Foggy came out of his office and announced, “It’s St. Patrick's Day tomorrow.”

“Uh huh,” agreed Karen, not looking up from her laptop. Matt, in the kitchen, said nothing.

“Guys,” Foggy repeated, “It’s _St. Patrick’s Day._ This firm has a fine old tradition of St. Patrick’s Day celebration.”

“This is the first St. Patrick’s Day since we started the firm,” Matt objected, coming out with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“And what better time to start a fine old tradition of celebration?” Foggy demanded.

“What would this celebration involve, exactly?” Karen asked.

“Well, it’s really just the fine old tradition of me and Matt going out drinking,” he told her, “Only this year I’m inviting you to come with us. Thus, it becomes a tradition for the entire firm. If that’s okay with you, Matt?”

Matt heard the unspoken question—was he intending to do _anything else_ tomorrow night? Well, he didn’t patrol every single night. And it was true that he and Foggy had a tradition of going out together to celebrate the day. St. Patrick’s Day would bring an increase of drunk idiots in the streets, but the police knew that as well as Daredevil did. Let them handle it.

“Yeah, definitely,” he answered Foggy. “Do you want to join us, Karen? Or do you have other plans?”

“Not a thing,” she said. “I’d love to come out with you guys, thank you.” She was accustomed to staying home on St. Patrick’s Day, since she didn’t have a lot of friends to go out with, and going out by herself was depressing when every bar was full of cheerful groups. But going out with Matt and Foggy sounded like fun, and it warmed her that they wanted to include her.

“Yes!” said Foggy. “You’re wearing the shirt, Matt.”

Matt sighed. “Yes, Foggy, I’ll wear the shirt,” he said in a long-suffering voice, but with a smile on his face.

Karen’s curiosity was piqued. “The shirt?” she asked.

“It’s just a green T-shirt with a shamrock on it,” said Matt. “Or so I’m told. Foggy gave it to me.”

“It’s a proud symbol of our shared Irish heritage,” said Foggy, grinning. “And I have a shamrock scarf.”

“I don’t have anything shamrock-y,” said Karen. “I’m not sure I even have anything green. Will I be violating the fine old traditions of this distinguished firm?”

“Of course not,” said Matt. “Foggy just got his scarf last year.”

“After Matt insisted that if I was going to make him wear shamrocks, I had to do it, too.”

“Okay, good,” said Karen. “Are we going to Josie’s, or do you have somewhere else in mind?”

Foggy looked at Matt, who shrugged. “We shouldn’t go on a crawl,” he said, “since the next day is a work day. I think tradition will be satisfied by a few drinks at Josie’s.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Karen.

“Agreed,” said Foggy. “Josie’s it is, then.”

* * * * *

Matt’s shirt turned out to be bright green, with a single white shamrock on it that covered his entire chest. To complete the look, he wore dark glasses with green lenses, instead of his usual red ones. Foggy’s scarf was white, covered in small green shamrocks, and he completed _his_ look with a Peruvian beanie hat, with a pompom on top and ear flaps. Karen spotted them as soon as she stepped inside the bar, and hurried over to join them at their table.

“Hi, guys,” she greeted them. “You look great. Very festive.”

“Thanks,” said Matt, smiling. He noticed that, like them, Karen had changed out of her work clothes before coming out. She wore jeans and a sweater, judging by the sounds the fabrics made, and the brush of her sleeve against his bare forearm, as she took off her coat and sat down next to him.

He pushed a beer toward her. “We went ahead and got the first round, but if you want something else, go ahead, and I’ll drink that one.”

“There is green beer, Karen,” Foggy informed her, waving his mug in her direction. “ _Green beer,_ which Matt is refusing to drink. You shame your people, Murdock.”

“He does this every year,” Matt informed Karen tolerantly. “And every year, I tell him that green beer is completely pointless, for me. I can’t see what color it is, and I don’t like the taste. It’s usually the worst beer in the house. Every year Foggy wants me to try his, just in case it’s not as bad as I think—”

“—And every year he pronounces it horrible,” Foggy finished, with a grin. “And he drinks his bottled, non-green beer, like a philistine.”

“That sounds like an argument I’m staying out of,” said Karen. “This is fine.” She opened her bottle and took a drink.

Matt was glad Foggy had thought to invite Karen to join them tonight. It would be nice to spend some time with her outside of work. He knew she was sleeping better lately, since her move, and he hoped that meant that she was finally succeeding in putting her fears behind her, for good. At the moment she seemed relaxed and happy, her heartbeat steady as she turned her head to look around, her skin quickly warming from the chill of the March air outside.

Karen saw that a half-hearted attempt had been made at holiday decorations, the walls garlanded with a single string of green foil shamrocks and white letters, spelling out “Happy St. Patrick’s Day.”

“Josie actually decorated,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

“No expense spared,” Foggy agreed. “She goes all out, for the holidays that are celebrated primarily by drinking.”

Karen laughed. It felt good to be here, with them, even though she’d already spent all day with them at the office. She felt how lucky she was, to have made friends of these two men.

No doubt she could have found a job somewhere else…eventually…after Matt and Foggy got her out of jail. It wouldn’t have been easy—she knew well enough that plenty of companies would hesitate to hire a known whistle-blower, let alone someone who’d been arrested, even though she was never officially charged with anything. But she would have found _something,_ somewhere.

What she wouldn’t have found was the complete trust Matt and Foggy placed in her, their unquestioning respect for her abilities, their genuine liking for her as a person. Friendship, and purpose, not just a paycheck. How much colder, and lonelier, her life would be without the two of them.

Matt seemed, once again, more relaxed tonight than he usually was at the office. And as the evening progressed, he gradually loosened up even more. After one beer, he smiled and laughed more often as they talked. After two, he began to gesture when he spoke, somehow managing to avoid hitting any of their drinks. By the third, he was reaching out to touch both Karen and Foggy, nudging his shoulder against hers, touching their arms, completely unselfconscious.

Karen was fascinated by his transformation. She wondered if this is what he would have been like, without the blindness that made him so careful of his movements, and…whatever it was that caused his emotional reserve. He seemed so happy like this, uninhibited. He wasn’t drunk, or out of control, just…open, unguarded, in a way he normally wasn’t. It was a side of him that Karen had only rarely seen before tonight, and she liked it.

Foggy was his usual cheerful self, although he, too, became more relaxed as the night went on. “How’s Marci?” Karen asked him, sipping her fourth beer. She was working on revising her initial, negative impression of Marci Stahl. Marci had helped them with their case against Fisk, after all, once Foggy had managed to convince her how corrupt Fisk’s organization really was. And Foggy was clearly happy to be involved with her once more, so there must be more to her than met the eye.

“Busy,” Foggy replied, with a grimace. “She’s been hired at Hogarth, Chao, & Benowitz, so she’s working extra hard right now to prove herself and impress her new bosses. Which is great, I’m happy for her, but I haven’t seen much of her lately.”

Karen nodded thoughtfully. “Well, if the legal world is anything like the corporate world, then she probably has to work twice as hard as the men just to be taken seriously.”

“And be twice as ruthless, too, if Jeri Hogarth is anything to go by,” Matt added.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Foggy agreed. “She’s afraid they’ll think she’s soft, or too emotional, if she’s not a complete hardass.”

“Well, yeah,” said Karen. “Women are _assumed_ to be too emotional, before they even walk in the door, unless they can prove otherwise. That’s how it is in business, at least. I’m guessing law firms are similar. And of course ‘emotional’ is just a code word for ‘irrational’, or ‘bad at anything requiring brain power’.”

Matt frowned. “Is that what you’ve had to deal with?” he asked, leaning toward her a little until their shoulders touched.

“Not exactly," she admitted. "It’s a little different for secretaries. Secretaries support the executives, we’re not in competition with them. Us being good at our jobs helps them, it doesn’t threaten them. No one questioned my competence, because I was in a properly subordinate role, doing work they didn’t want to have to do themselves. But it definitely happened to women executives, and I assume it’s the same for women lawyers.”

Matt’s shoulder was warm and solid against hers, and her heart gave a happy little skip, as it had been doing all night whenever he touched her. She knew it wasn’t intended as flirting, but that just made it easier for her to relax and enjoy it, without having to worry about whether or not flirting was a good idea. 

She was aware that her attraction to Matt was only growing stronger. But as long as she acted sensibly, he never had to know that. They could be friends, and they could enjoy each other’s company—and if platonic touching was something else he enjoyed, there was no reason why she couldn’t enjoy that, too. The buzz of desire she was feeling right now was pleasant, and she was confident that the flush on her cheeks could be attributed to the beer. There was nothing else that might give her away, as long as she minded her behavior.

Matt’s eyebrows had elevated themselves above the rims of his green glasses. “ _Properly_ subordinate?” he repeated.

Karen shrugged. “That’s how they would think of it, the sort of men who think women can’t be the boss. It’s not what _I_ think.”

“We don’t think that, either,” said Foggy, looking a little anxious. “You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that,” she said warmly. “Why do you think I wanted to work for you? You guys are two of the good ones, definitely.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith in us,” Matt said softly. “You barely knew us when we hired you.”

“You put a lot of faith in me, too,” she answered seriously, “even before you hired me.”

She looked at each of them in turn. “I will never forget sitting in that room at the police station, scared to death. I had no idea what was going to happen to me or who I could turn to for help. And then the two of you walked in.” 

She could feel herself getting emotional, a little, as she remembered. “I was afraid to trust you,” she said. “Afraid to tell you the whole story. And I knew the part I did tell sounded unbelievable. But you believed me.”

She reached out and put her hand on Matt’s arm. “I felt so helpless, like everyone was against me,” she told him earnestly. “And you said, _I believe you, Miss Page._ Do you have any idea what that meant to me? I was still afraid to trust you, but after you said that a part of me _wanted_ to trust. I wanted so badly to believe that you really were the good guys, and not just another trap for me to fall into.”

Matt put his hand over hers. “You told the truth,” he said, “and we wanted to help you.”

“But you couldn’t have known it was the truth, not then,” she said. “Why did you believe me?”

“Just instinct, I suppose,” Matt said lightly. He let go of her hand and picked up his beer, but left the arm she was holding where it was. The touch of her hand against his skin felt good. He had touched her repeatedly over the last hour, but she was wearing long sleeves, so their skin hadn’t touched until she reached out to him. He wanted to focus on the sensation, which was…really nice.

This conversation, though, could quickly become uncomfortable, if he wasn’t careful. Karen was far too sharp at noticing when he was being less than truthful. _Make it convincing,_ he told himself.

“I can look back on it now,” he went on, “and say, if you were going to lie, you would have come up with a better lie than that. Or point out what a remarkable coincidence it was that the police showed up right when they did, just in time to catch you with the knife in your hands. In retrospect, it was obviously a frame-up. At the time, though…” he shook his head, and smiled. “I believed you, that’s all, I can’t explain it any better than that.” 

Time to try and shift the subject to something less risky. “Foggy says I show questionable judgement when it comes to beautiful women,” he said, his smile growing wider.

Karen blinked in surprise. Did that mean that Matt, or Foggy, thought she was beautiful? What did ‘beautiful’ even mean, to a blind man?

“To be fair,” said Foggy, “That’s because you do, in fact, show questionable judgement when it comes to beautiful women. And I admit, Karen, I questioned his judgement about you. I was…skeptical of your story at first, and I’m sorry. I came around pretty quickly, though.”

“I don’t blame you, Foggy. Like I said, I know how it sounded. But how would Matt know if I’m beautiful or not?”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Matt told her.

“I don’t know how he does it,” said Foggy. “But it’s a consistent pattern, for as long as we’ve known each other. Beautiful woman appears, Matt makes poor decisions.”

“Foggy helps me through the fallout, when it inevitably goes badly,” Matt added. He smiled as he said it, but Karen thought she could detect a certain bitterness in his voice, and she remembered what Foggy had told her once, that Matt always dated the wrong women.

“Inevitably?” she asked gently, sliding her hand down his arm to take his hand. God, it felt good to touch him. _Friends, we’re just friends._

Matt ducked his head and shrugged, and said nothing. But his fingers curled around hers.

It occurred to him that her heartbeat was not quite so steady now as it had been earlier. Her scent, too, had altered in subtle ways. Part of that was the beer she had consumed, of course. But there was something else there, an elusive hint that he couldn’t quite pin down amid all the other strong smells that filled the air of the crowded bar, his own ability to sort input hampered by the beer _he_ had consumed.

He leaned toward her, trying to focus on that particular thread of smell…and then sat back again, with a little flare of guilt. It was one thing to analyze and identify smells he couldn’t help noticing. But to try and dig up more information, deliberately, about something as personal as someone else’s body…that was something else. There were certain circumstances when he felt it was justified, but this definitely wasn’t one of them. _Don’t be a creep,_ he told himself firmly, and let it go.

“They weren’t all disasters,” Foggy was saying. “That nursing student—what was her name? She was nice.”

“Rebecca,” said Matt, nodding. “Yeah, she was nice. She’d be a great girlfriend for someone. Just not for me. She tried to take care of me too much.”

“Ohhhhh, that’s right,” said Foggy.

“I mean, it was nice at first. But the longer we were together, the more she tried to…to do things for me, like I was helpless.”

Karen made a face. “Yeah, that’s not good. Was it well-intentioned, at least, or was she doing it so everyone else could see how selfless and caring she was? Because I’ve met people like that.”

“Oh, so have I,” said Matt, a little grimly. “No, Rebecca meant well. She just…” he trailed off.

“She just thought you were a Tragic Blind Orphan who needed her to take care of you,” Foggy finished. “I remember now. And once you realized that wasn’t going to change, you got out. So I guess I can’t really question your judgement in her case. But she was definitely beautiful.”

“She smelled nice,” Matt agreed.

“You’re attracted to people by their smell?” Karen asked curiously.

“Well, not just smell. Voices, too. But yeah, smell definitely matters. Everyone smells different. If I walked into a room where you were, or Foggy, and you didn’t speak, I could still recognize you by your smell.”

He was about to say more, but he abruptly remembered that he couldn’t let Karen know just how powerful his senses were. He hadn’t drunk that much, how had he come so close to slipping up? It felt so good to relax for an evening, and he felt so comfortable with her right now. But he didn’t dare let his guard down too far.

“You smell good,” he said instead, and nearly clapped a hand over his mouth. Where had _that_ come from? It was true, but he certainly hadn’t intended to say it out loud.

He needed to be more careful.

He let go of her hand (how long had he been holding her hand?) and drank the rest of his beer to cover his confusion. She didn’t seem to mind what he had said, at least, or think he was being weird. She laughed, and he felt her cheeks heat in a blush.

Karen felt a little giddy, and not just from the beer. Matt thought she smelled good. And her voice—he had told her months ago that he liked listening to her talk, so off-handedly that she hadn’t thought anything of it. But that meant he liked her voice, didn’t it?

 _Did_ Matt think she was beautiful? Was it possible he was attracted to her?

She knew that was a bad idea, but the voice in the back of her head reminding her that she didn’t deserve him was much harder to hear when she was so suffused with happiness and well-being.

Still, she retained enough cold common sense that she wasn’t about to do anything stupid. She knew she’d had enough to drink to affect her judgement, and so had Matt. If he was genuinely attracted to her, and not just currently enjoying the blind equivalent of beer-goggles, then he would still be attracted to her tomorrow. His behavior toward her when they were both sober would be a much better indicator.

And if he was, what then?

Could she allow herself to be happy?

Well, that was a question for tomorrow. There was no point crossing the bridge before she came to it.

“Buddy, if you’re telling people they smell good, you’ve probably had enough,” said Foggy, sounding amused. “Should we call it a night?”

“Yeah, probably,” said Matt reluctantly. A part of him didn’t want the night to end, but he knew it was a good idea to go home now, before he really did slip up and say too much.

“Ooooh, it’s late,” said Karen, checking the time. Tonight had been wonderful, she felt happier than she had in months. But after all, it had to end some time. She looked around the dingy bar, wanting to remember every detail.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Before we go, you guys, we should take a picture. Or ask someone else to take one, of the three of us!”

“Sure, why not?” Foggy said, and called out to one of the regulars standing by the pool table.

“Hey Charlie, will you come and take our picture?”

“Sure,” said Charlie, walking over. Karen took out her phone, bringing up the camera and handing it to him.

“Just press the circle on the screen,” she told him.

Foggy and Matt moved closer together, and Karen pressed up close to Matt on his other side, pleasantly surprised when he put his arm around her. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and they all smiled as the camera flashed.

Charlie handed back the phone, and Karen checked the result.

“Oh, we look good!” she said, showing it to Foggy. “Thanks, Charlie.”

“No problem,” he replied, and returned to his pool game.

They put their coats on, and went out into the cold night.

Matt and Foggy walked Karen home, and when they reached her front stoop, she turned to them and smiled.

“Thank you so much for inviting me along tonight,” she told them. “I had a really great time.”

“You’re welcome,” said Foggy. “We had a great time, too.”

“Absolutely,” Matt agreed.

She hugged them both, first Foggy, which felt easy and familiar, and then Matt, which felt…more complicated…but so good that she didn’t want to let go. She tucked her face into his neck, and realized she could smell him. And he was right, scent could definitely play a part in attraction, even for someone sighted. She melted against him a little, her whole body flushing with warmth, drinking in the smell of his skin, the feel of his arms around her, his body pressed close to hers.

How would it feel to do this, if they weren’t both bundled up in heavy winter coats? Her stomach swooped at the thought, her heart pounding in her chest.

Matt heard her heart rate increase, and felt the rush of heat coming off her skin—and suddenly, he realized what the elusive scent was that he had failed to identify earlier. Outside, away from the other smells distracting him, holding her in his arms while her body molded itself to his, it was unmistakable. Desire. Karen was turned on. By him.

No sooner had he thought it, his own body already responding with an answering warmth, than she released him and stepped back. He felt both relieved and disappointed, and couldn’t have said which feeling was stronger.

Karen realized their embrace was lasting a little too long, and hastily broke it. _Don’t do anything stupid,_ she reminded herself sternly. _Keep your feelings to yourself._

She gave a slightly exaggerated yawn, hoping she could blame her boneless lean against Matt on sleepiness. “I’d better get to bed,” she said, keeping her voice steady and cheerful. “I’ll see you tomorrow, guys.”

Desire, Matt knew, was a perfectly ordinary bodily phenomenon. He picked up flashes of it regularly, from all kinds of people. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, especially when alcohol was involved. Maybe Karen was just…more susceptible…because of the beer.

Maybe he was, too. He liked Karen. She was attractive, certainly. But that didn’t mean it would be a good idea to get involved, given the double life he was hiding from her.

Better not to think about it. She wasn’t acting flirtatious, maybe what he had noticed was an unconscious response that she wasn’t even aware of.

“Goodnight, Karen,” he said with a smile, resolving to put the idea out of his head.

“Night, Karen,” Foggy echoed, as she turned away and went inside.

* * * * *

Karen woke up in the morning with a mild headache, and the familiar feeling that she hadn’t gotten enough sleep. But she knew that for once, it was only because she had stayed up so late, and not because of bad dreams. Once she had finally gone to bed, her sleep had been deep and unbroken.

She yawned, and stretched, and got out of bed, crossing to the kitchen for a glass of water. Last night had been worth a headache, and losing a little sleep.

She walked back to the bed and picked up her phone from the nightstand, bringing up the photo of the three of them and studying it.

Foggy was in the foreground, in his hat and scarf, a mug of green beer in his hand. Beside him, and a little behind, was Matt—green glasses catching the light, his arm around Karen and his head leaning against hers, a sunny smile on his face. And Karen herself—she looked happy. She leaned on Matt, her cheeks flushed, smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world.

Well, she was a long way from feeling that carefree, in the sober light of day. But she felt that maybe last night had brought her a step closer. She was looking at a picture of hope, a good omen for the future. It could be a reminder, on her darker days, that happiness was still possible.

“I’m going to print you out and frame you,” she told the picture, with a smile. “And put you…somewhere.” She looked around the apartment, considering her options. Desk? Dresser? Bookshelf? Well, she could decide that later. She put the phone down and headed for the shower, ready to face a new day.

**Author's Note:**

> -I made this as shippy as I thought I could get away with, given how much longer it is in canon before anything actually happens between the two of them. At this point, I think Karen is more interested than Matt. He likes her, and feels protective, but hasn't yet seriously considered her as a dating prospect. But they both are noticing attractive things about each other--and of course, they both have reasons for not wanting to pursue anything.
> 
> -There's an episode of DD S2 (ep 10 iirc) that gives a good look at Karen's new apartment. I'm sure it's not actually small, by NYC standards, but it's definitely smaller than her S1 place, which makes perfect sense.
> 
> -Matt doesn't like green beer because he can taste the food coloring. Foggy knows that, now, but giving him shit about it is all part of their tradition, and Matt doesn't mind.
> 
> -How many beers would it take to get these three loose and uninhibited, but not totally wasted? Your guess is as good as mine, although I'm assuming they have a higher tolerance than I do. Enough so they're staying out late, and enough that I could imagine Matt's progressive relaxation beer by beer.
> 
> -I definitely think at least one of Matt's exes was like the one I made up here. Someone nurturing could be very appealing to him, after so many years without that, but it could also easily become too much.


End file.
